


Pear Tarts

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Oikawa gives Suga way too many pear tarts.





	

"Oi, Shittykawa, look where you’re putting those!"

 

Iwaizumi’s voice is gruff and short, and given that the space that the two of them are occupying isn’t particularly large, it also seems extra loud.

 

Oikawa startles, fumbles the tray of baked sweet potato apple pies he’s holding, a few of them sliding dangerously close to the edge of the pan, threatening to fall to the floor in a mess of buttery crumbs and sticky filling, and then rights himself.

 

Hanamaki, who’s just poked his head through the kitchen door in the back, lets out a low whistle.

 

"Nice save, Captain," he quips, sarcasm dripping from his voice like the gold, glassy syrup that will coat the mitarashi dango Iwaizumi is currently arranging, smirking and then disappearing from view, and Oikawa sticks his tongue out at his back as it disappears behind the swinging, metal doors.

 

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa complains, setting his tray safely down onto the nearest available surface and then placing his hands on his hips, "you almost made me drop those."

 

"S’not my fault," Iwaizumi mutters, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he concentrates on the display he’s working on, the sun slowly rising in front of the shop and casting everything in rosy blushes of lavender and swirls of sky blue, falling over Iwaizumi’s face and turning him younger, reminding Oikawa of when the other used to spend his afternoons digging in the dirt or climbing trees in his never-ending quest to find the creatures that lived there, band-aids covering his knees and mud smudged on the tip of his nose. "You’re the one who’s acting like a lovesick idiot. He’s not even here yet and you’re already trying to drop the desserts on my head."

 

Oikawa flushes and then scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away to fuss over the rows of dorayaki behind him even though he had just finished filling them with deep-red, sugary anko paste half an hour ago.

 

He hopes Iwaizumi can’t see the blush on his cheeks from this angle, cursing himself silently for reacting so obviously.

 

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he sniffs, poking at the fluffy edges of the castella pancakes until his hand is slapped away by none other than Matsukawa, who’s slipped in from the kitchen without Oikawa noticing.

 

"Of course you don’t," Matsukawa deadpans, apparently having heard the previous conversation. "It’s not like you turn into a clumsy, speechless idiot every time he comes by or anything. And stop touching those, it’s not sanitary."

 

Matsukawa smacks Oikawa’s hand from where he’s turned to jab petulantly at the honey toast instead.

 

"I do not turn into a clumsy, speechless idiot," Oikawa mutters under his breath, feeling thoroughly betrayed by all of his friends. It’s not even eight in the morning and he’s already been insulted three times.

 

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa snort mockingly at the same time.

 

Four times.

 

Not for the first time since summer break started, Oikawa asks himself why he agreed to take this job.

 

Sure, it pays well. Yes, he enjoys coming home in the afternoon smelling like yeast and burnt sugar. And above all, _he_ drops by without fail every morning and then every afternoon, sending Oikawa’s heart into a fluttering mess and throwing all of his dating expertise out of the metaphorical window.

 

But sometimes working in such close proximity (the bakery has a small kitchen and an even smaller serving station, more like a food stall than an actual café) with his three very perceptive best friends can overshadow all of that.

 

Oikawa grumbles to himself, sulking in the farthest corner he can squeeze into to escape Matsukawa recounting the time just last week when Oikawa had nearly given Hanamaki a black eye with a glass jar of sakura honey syrup.

 

It’s no use. Matsukawa’s voice is probably loud enough for the entire neighborhood that surrounds the tiny bakery to hear him, not to mention Oikawa who’s crammed into the 150 square feet with him and his obnoxious eyebrows.

 

Hanamaki decides to emerge from the kitchen in his work uniform then, already declaring dramatically how he had nearly had to visit the hospital in fear of losing an eye, and Oikawa is just turning to defend himself because Iwaizumi sure isn’t overexerting himself trying to, when he glimpses ashen hair and a familiar figure in the distance, walking down the street that lies parallel to the shop.

 

The town that they live in, a sleepy, rural place named Itomori that is nestled up alongside the large, circular stretch of the glittering Lake Suwa, and surrounded by mountains as if someone had picked the town up and dropped it haphazardly, is populated by enough people that Oikawa doesn’t recognize everyone he passes in the street.

 

He does, however, recognize the person headed their way.

 

Sugawara Koushi, a fellow classmate who had sat two chairs up and one over from Oikawa this last term, who is a member of the calligraphy club, who taps his fingers against his desk whenever he’s thinking really hard about a problem, who has a smile that can light up an entire room, who drops by this little bakery to buy sweets every morning and every afternoon during the summer holidays, and who Oikawa has hopelessly and obviously been crushing on for the past year.

 

Without really thinking about it, Oikawa drops to the floor to hide, the edge of his uniform shirt, some mint-colored, long-sleeved thing, catching on a stack of carry-out boxes and knocking them across the floor where they lie in a chaotic mess of candy colors.

 

Iwaizumi glances over at the noise and then rolls his eyes, Matsukawa and Hanamaki trailing off from their dramatic rendition of Oikawa swinging a syrup jar around to snigger behind their palms.

 

"Your sweetheart has arrived," Hanamaki sing-songs, placing both hands on the front counter and leaning forward to glimpse Suga, and Oikawa groans behind his hands.

 

It’s already been a chaotic morning and Oikawa isn’t prepared at all to come face-to-face with the boy that turns him into an awkward, stuttering, sweating mess on a daily basis. He needs time to mentally steel himself to see that distracting, adorable beauty mark placed delicately under Suga’s left eye, as if he did it himself with one of his writing brushes, or to make direct eye-contact with Suga’s beautiful golden gaze, and oh God, Oikawa is so screwed.

 

"Do his ears always turn that red?" Matsukawa asks with the air of someone completing a study for some type of research, and Iwaizumi mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

 

The next second someone is grabbing Oikawa under both arms and hauling him upright until he’s standing on weak knees.

 

"This is ridiculous," Iwaizumi says in exasperation, his face twisted into a scowl that sends Oikawa’s heart into his throat because that look never means anything good for him. It’s usually either accompanied by a volleyball to the back of his head or a punch to his ribs, but today Iwaizumi just shoves Oikawa to the front of the bakery.

 

"You’re going to tell Sugawara how you feel and you’re going to stop wrecking our workplace," he says, keeping one hand fisted in the back of Oikawa’s shirt to keep him from running.

 

"Iwa-chan, ow- let go, ow- I can’t do this," Oikawa pleads, squirming and writhing to break free and receiving a pinch to his side for the effort.

 

"Yeah, Iwa-chan," Matsukawa chimes in, doing a horrible imitation of Oikawa’s voice, "don’t make the poor baby embarrass himself even more than he already has."

 

Oikawa twists in Iwaizumi’s grip, teeth bared, ready to shove Matsukawa’s face into the rows of steaming karukan that lie to his right, fingers itching to smear the violet filling all over his friend’s face.

 

But it’s Hanamaki who steps up, the glint in his eyes recognized by everyone but Oikawa in his panic.

 

"Mattsun," Hanamaki scolds half-heartedly, mischief buttering his voice. "Don’t tease. I’m sure Oikawa is perfectly capable of confessing his feelings in a perfectly calm and suave manner, aren’t you Tooru?"

 

Before Oikawa can respond, simultaneously confused and terrified because why is Makki defending him and holy shit he can basically hear Suga’s humming as he approaches, Matsukawa side-eyes Hanamaki, a sly grin curving his mouth up.

 

"You wanna bet?" he asks Hanamaki, who shrugs innocently and bats his eyelashes.

 

"Actually," Hanamaki continues, much too sweetly to come across as anything other than trouble, "I didn’t really think a bet was necessary. Oikawa has dated the most people out of the three of us, he’s attractive and smart, I’m sure he’d have no trouble telling Sugawara his true feelings, right?"

 

Hanamaki gives Oikawa an open glance, and even though Oikawa is a little (okay, very) bewildered by Hanamaki’s praise, he can’t help but simultaneously preen at the words, throwing Hanamaki a smirk in return.

 

"Of course," Oikawa hears himself say, when, really, on the inside, the thought of confessing to Suga, of having to actually talk face-to-face with him, sends his palms into a cold sweat and his heart pounding.

 

"Hmmm, I don’t think he could. I can see him panicking from here."

 

Matsukawa’s voice breaks through Oikawa’s internal crisis, and the words are a sharp sting to Oikawa’s pride.

 

"Yeah, me neither," Iwaizumi adds from behind him, his knuckles digging painfully into Oikawa’s spine.

 

Hanamaki doesn’t try to defend him, just gives Oikawa a look as if to say, _"Are you really going to let them talk to you like that?"_

 

_"No, no I am not,"_ Oikawa thinks, and then stops when all three of his friends give him a weird look, realizing that he must’ve said that out loud.

 

Oikawa clears his throat and draws himself up to as high of a height as he can go with Iwaizumi still holding him in a death grip.

 

"You guys wanna bet?" Oikawa starts, sounding much more confident than he feels. "I could do it in my sleep."

 

He had actually, in a really nice dream once, but no one needs to actually know that.

 

"Perfect," Hanamaki practically purrs, and then he’s stepping into Oikawa’s space, his right pinky finger held up in front of him.

 

Oikawa takes it without thinking, only aware of how irritating Matsukawa and Iwaizumi’s smirks are and of how Suga’s shadow is moving in front of the bakery, his sweet humming growing progressively louder.

 

"I bet Oikawa that he can’t confess his feelings and ask Suga out in three days," Hanamaki says, Matsukawa chuckling under his breath and crossing his arms over his chest, Hanamaki’s pinky finger tightening around Oikawa’s with the words. "If you can, then all three of us will have to apologize and take over your shift for a week. If not, then Iwaizumi has full permission to tell Suga for you so that you stop dropping cakes and taking money out of all of our paychecks. And you have to take over all of our shifts for _three_ weeks."

 

Oikawa realizes his mistake too late.

 

"Wait-," he starts, voice high with alarm, but Hanamaki is shaking his head at him, saying, "Uh-uh, a pinky promise is a promise that can never be broken, don’t you remember, Tooru?", and Oikawa is remembering when he himself had said those very words back when they were all in grade school and he had forced Hanamaki to eat all of the vegetables in his lunchbox for a month.

 

"Makki, you little shit-," Oikawa growls, lunging forward, Iwaizumi choosing that moment to let him go, and Oikawa stumbles before he rights himself, the other three snickering and passing him to escape to the kitchen.

 

"The first day starts now," Iwaizumi informs him as he goes, his lips twitching with a poorly-concealed grin, and then Oikawa is all alone.

 

Well, not completely alone.

 

The delicate clearing of a throat has Oikawa turning as if in slow motion, his pulse sky-rocketing when he finds honey-gold eyes blinking at him and a soft smile and silver hair that seems to catch the rising sun’s rays and glow.

 

_"Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic,"_ Oikawa thinks to himself furiously, trying to form words. _"You can do this, just take a deep breath, look Suga in the eye, and ask him out. This is the perfect opportunity."_

 

Suga tilts his head to the side, the smile slowly dropping from his face and worry tugging it down instead, his mouth (the perfect, perfect mouth that Oikawa wants to kiss every day and every night) parting to speak words that Oikawa almost doesn’t hear.

 

"Oikawa," Suga starts, the sound of Oikawa’s name in the graceful lilt of his voice nearly knocking Oikawa off-balance again, "are you okay? You look a little flushed."

 

Oikawa’s hands rise to his cheeks. Sure enough, the skin is warm, as if Oikawa has spent the last hour baking instead of merely setting up shop.

 

"Ummm, uh-," Oikawa stutters, feeling his face heat up even more because he never stutters. He’s always been a professional sweet-talker, someone who could read people easily and accurately, a social butterfly with his own fan club at school, full of both girls and boys.

 

But now, right now, with Suga standing on the other side of the glass counter, separated by rows and rows of saccharine treats and staring at him with nothing but concern on his face, Oikawa can’t think of a single thing to say.

 

Except for the last thing he had ever expected to blurt out to someone, especially someone he wanted to date.

 

"Your hair is like starlight."

 

Oikawa’s hands fly from his cheeks to clap over his mouth as soon as the words register in his muddled thoughts, and he watches in horror as Suga’s facial expression transforms from worried to surprised to embarrassed in the span of three seconds, his pale skin turning cerise, the blush blooming like flowers over the bridge of his nose and spreading down his neck, threatening to hide the scattering of moles Oikawa can see along his collarbones, a delicate constellation.

 

From the direction of the kitchen, there’s a sharp bark of laughter, followed by some clanging sounds, like a bunch of pots have fallen over, and then hysterical cackling that filters out and fills the space annoyingly.

 

"Oh," is all Suga manages to say, his voice low and hushed, one of his hands reaching up to consciously touch his bangs, and Oikawa can’t stand here anymore, can’t even make direct eye contact, the tips of his ears burning with mortification.

 

"I have to go," he tries to say, but it comes out muffled and garbled due to his hands still being over his mouth, and before he can make an even bigger fool of himself, he spins on his heel and makes for the kitchen doors.

 

As soon as he bursts through them, he’s greeted with the sight of all three of his friends in various stages of hysterics.

 

Iwaizumi is mostly upright, one arm slung over the edge of a countertop as his face scrunches with laughter that he’s trying to hide behind a palm, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa are sprawled across the floor in a tangle of limbs, the pots and pans and trays that they had knocked over scattered around them, with their arms wrapped around their ribs, tears streaming down their faces as they roar with laughter.

 

Oikawa doesn’t even wait to hear anything they’re going to say, just barely manages to hear Iwaizumi say he’ll go assist Suga before Oikawa is pushing through the back door and out into the summer heat.

 

The bakery is surrounded on one side by another family-owned business and on the other side by someone’s residence, but no one is around this early in the morning, so Oikawa slumps to the small strip of grass that divides the back of the shop from the house right behind it.

 

He puts his face in his hands, tries to swallow the overwhelming shame, the heat in his face prickling down over his neck and to the tops of his shoulders, and Oikawa remembers Suga’s face, remembers the shock that had flitted over his delicate features and the corresponding, _"Oh."_ , but Oikawa hadn’t waited to see the rest of his reaction.

 

He’s definitely screwed everything up now. Of all of the things he could’ve said, it had to be that thought, the one that he usually let float around in his head whenever he saw Suga’s hair lit up by the winter sun amongst the glittering snow and the ice or when he saw it reflecting the neon roses and sapphires and emeralds of fireworks during Itomori’s annual festival or even when he saw Suga everyday in the hallways at school, his hair catching the lights and glowing like stardust.

 

He tries to imagine what would’ve happened if he would’ve stayed. Would Suga have laughed it off? Would he have rejected Oikawa automatically?

 

No, Suga probably would’ve given him a sweet smile and let him down gently. Oikawa has seen him stay after school to help the younger students with their homework, has seen him substitute in countless times for other clubs that need someone to fill in a last-minute spot, has seen him a couple of times out with his twin younger siblings, both of their tiny hands in each of his, laughing and wiping ice cream off of their chins or bandaging a scraped elbow and pressing a kiss to their hair to stop the tears.

 

These are only a few of the many reasons Oikawa likes him. 

 

Oikawa feels a cool breeze drift over the back of his neck and ruffle his hair, listens to the birds flitter and chirp above his head in the trees, and vaguely makes out Suga’s voice floating around the shop, thanking Iwaizumi before it fades.

 

He tries to salvage what’s left of his pride before Iwaizumi opens the back door and looks down at him in exasperation.

 

"Oi, Shittykawa," he says, voice softer than usual, "Suga asked me to tell you that he hopes you feel better soon and that he’ll see you tomorrow morning. He can’t come this afternoon because one of his siblings has a cold."

 

Iwaizumi is gone before Oikawa can raise his head, but his words linger with the breeze, like some kind of half-hope.

 

 

 

The universe must be conspiring against him.

 

Oikawa tries not to squash the strawberry daifuku he’s folding, the soft, doughy mochi covered in a thin layer of corn starch and powdering the tips of his fingers, but he can’t help the irritation that buzzes through his brain.

 

It’s the second afternoon of the bet and Oikawa hasn’t even come close to saying anything to Suga.

 

Granted, he hadn’t seen Suga until just a few minutes ago due to Suga not showing up yesterday afternoon as he’d said he wouldn’t and then due to Oikawa sleeping through his alarm and coming to work late this morning.

 

But just now had been the golden opportunity, the moment to finally blurt out his feelings for better or for worse and to wipe the smug grins off of Hanamki and Matsukawa’s faces.

 

And he had failed. Again.

 

This time had consisted of practically throwing Suga’s order at him through the window and warding off any questions about his so-called "fever" from yesterday before Oikawa had choked out some excuse and had escaped to the back again.

 

It hadn’t been all his fault in reality. No, part of the blame landed on Suga’s best friend, Sawamura Daichi, or Dai-chan as Oikawa would call him at school (whenever Suga wasn’t around of course because not even Oikawa’s annoying pet names stuck in his head whenever he was within a fifteen-foot radius), who had decided to tag along this afternoon, all five-foot nine-inches of tanned, muscled protectiveness hovering around Suga’s more slender frame.

 

Oikawa hadn’t been able to even think of confessing to Suga with Daichi’s dark gaze on him, the arm slung over Suga’s shoulders and the tight smile all but screaming that Oikawa’s feelings were not as secret as he thought they were.

 

It seemed like everyone _but_ Suga had noticed.

 

So now Oikawa has one day left, one morning and one afternoon full of possibility but foreshadowed by two days of bad luck.

 

Oikawa sighs, accidentally smashes the strawberry he’s trying to cover, and stares forlornly at the red juice that covers his palms.

 

 

 

The next morning dawns humid and sticky, the promise of rain trembling in the air and drawing plum-colored clouds over the sky.

 

Oikawa wakes up extra early, shrugs his clothes on, grabs one of the umbrellas by his front door before he leaves.

 

He tries to give himself a pep talk as he walks along the empty streets, watching the sun peek over the mountains and outline everything, the edges of the houses, the white traffic symbols on the roads, the windows of the high school in the distance, the glass-like surface of Lake Suwa, in gold, listening to the town slowly hum to life, his hair already sticking to the back of his neck with a thin layer of sweat.

 

A cold wind, tinged with the first droplets of rain, blows past, rustles the emerald leaves of the trees lining the street, clears some of the jittery nerves from Oikawa’s head.

 

But as soon as he rounds the corner onto the street the bakery is located on, the heart-pounding anticipation returns full force.

 

Because, standing there, waiting, is Suga, his bangs fluttering around his face with the wind, dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a simple white t-shirt with a shrimp drawn over the front, one of the bakery bags clutched in his hands.

 

Oikawa walks faster even though he tries not to look too eager, his pulse thrumming at his wrists, until Suga notices him and glances up, a smile automatically brightening his features.

 

"Hey," Oikawa says, a little too breathlessly but he doesn’t care.

 

Suga is here, Daichi is not, and none of his friends have made it to work yet to provide an unwanted audience.

 

"Hi," Suga responds, looking up at him and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his shirt. "I-," he starts, right as a drop of rainwater hits him on the nose. Suga blinks in surprise, scrunching up his face at the cold, nearly going cross-eyed as he tries to see the offending droplet.

 

Oikawa tries not to flail at how adorable that is.

 

Suga laughs a little, the sound tinkling through the air, Oikawa smiling before he can help himself, and then retries his sentence.

 

"I ordered five pear tarts yesterday," Suga explains, glancing down into his bag, "but you gave me ten."

 

"Oh," Oikawa says dumbly, hazily remembering his panicked rush to give Suga his order yesterday with Daichi practically breathing down his neck, and flushes. "Sorry."

 

Suga laughs again, not unkindly, and shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something, but at that moment the clouds decide to finally open up, the air growing thick with rain in seconds.

 

One of them, Oikawa isn’t sure who it is, shrieks in surprise, and then he’s fumbling to get his key out of his pocket and open the front door, the rain soaking through his clothes and pooling in his shoes, Suga bouncing from foot to foot until Oikawa finally manages to yank the door open and stumble inside, Suga close behind him.

 

Oikawa blinks raindrops from his eyelashes, turns to make sure Suga is fully inside, glimpses his umbrella lying forlornly on the ground just outside the door where he must’ve dropped it, Suga’s bag right next to it, the pear tarts no doubt ruined by now, and then realizes how close Suga is, the other boy’s hair plastered to his head, rain trailing down his face in glittering lines like translucent comets, close enough for Oikawa to feel his body heat through his clothes, to count his long, black eyelashes that cling to each other with water, to see that the beauty mark under his eye isn’t a perfect circle like Oikawa had thought it was, but more like a splash of ink.

 

Suga looks up at him, both of them soaked and breathless, his eyes wide, and then suddenly bursts into laughter, the sound of it rising above the thundering of the rain on the roof and on the sidewalk just a few feet away, a flushed rose color rising in his cheeks, his eyes shining with something Oikawa doesn’t ever want to look away from.

 

It’s in between one breath and the next, when Suga takes a subconscious step forward and slips in one of the puddles of water around their feet, when Oikawa reaches out to catch him, the two of them stumbling a little before they steady, Suga’s laughter dying down and eventually fading away completely as he stares up at Oikawa, something different covering his face, something like wonder or anticipation, and they’re even closer now, too close Oikawa’s mind yells at him, pressed chest-to-chest, Suga’s shoes in between Oikawa’s, and all Oikawa can register is the smell of sugar mixing with the fresh scent of the rain mixing with what smells like cinnamon coming from Suga, all he can register is that Suga is leaning up, getting closer and closer, until Oikawa can only see honey-gold and a mole right up next to his hairline, all he can register is that both of them are hovering, waiting, breathing in the same air until Oikawa shuts his eyes (literally) and takes a leap of faith (metaphorically) and closes the last bit of distance, pressing his mouth to Suga’s.

 

It’s soft and warm, hot almost, Suga’s lips parting in surprise and his accompanying gasp lost somewhere in Oikawa’s mouth, and Oikawa’s sure his heart is hammering loud enough to rip out of his chest, only kept in place by Suga’s body against him.

 

His common sense catches up quickly, and Oikawa’s eyes fly open as he pulls away fast, words of apology already on the tip of his tongue even as he already misses Suga’s warmth.

 

But instead of yelling at him, or pulling away, Suga pushes back into his space, kissing him again quick and gentle, and then leans back down, peering up at Oikawa through his eyelashes, the corners of his mouth curving up prettily as he smiles shyly.

 

Oikawa really can’t handle this turn of events, really wants to pinch the skin at the inside of his elbow to make sure he’s not dreaming, but his hands are still wrapped around Suga’s waist, keeping him upright even though Suga caught his balance a while ago.

 

"Wha-," Oikawa starts, lost for words, all of his thoughts lost in the clouds, and Suga interrupts him quickly.

 

"I thought you’d never do that," he says, mischief dancing in his eyes, a drop of rain falling from his hair to trace a path down his neck to disappear under the collar of his shirt, and Oikawa tears his eyes from following it to look back at Suga’s face.

 

Suga is watching him carefully despite his nonchalant words, and Oikawa can sense the hesitance in his voice, the same nervousness Oikawa has been feeling all week, can tell that Suga might have taken the same leap of faith as he had and is still waiting to see how it’ll all play out.

 

The realization makes Oikawa feel a little more brave and he blurts the three words he’s been trying to say to Suga this entire time.

 

"I like you," he says, cheeks burning, Suga’s face flushing the same bright color, and for a moment they both look away, unable to hold each other’s gazes.

 

Suga looks back first, the grin he’s been trying to hide finally breaking over his face. "I like you too," he says, and Oikawa wants to simultaneously cry and laugh and hit a million serves, but he forces himself to merely sigh in relief and slump forward, resting his forehead against Suga’s shoulder.

 

"This took so long," he whines, trying not to melt into a puddle when Suga runs soft fingers through his hair, turning his head to nuzzle into the side of Suga’s neck.

 

Suga laughs against him, shuffles closer, says, "I thought you’d never say something, and I was going to confess yesterday after what you said the other morning but Daichi wanted to come with me to do some weird background check on you and then you did actually give me ten pear tarts and I-"

 

Oikawa stops Suga’s somewhat nervous rambling by leaning up and catching his mouth again, Suga catching his breath with a small hiccup before he goes pliant and pushes back.

 

This time is slower, sweeter, both of them taking their time to explore the other, Oikawa sliding his hands up to thread his fingers through Suga’s rain-soaked hair, Suga breathing unsteadily against him when Oikawa draws back and then kisses him a second time, a third time, each time longer than the last, languid, until Suga is tightening his fingers around the collar of Oikawa’s shirt and Oikawa licks into his mouth, light-headed and dazed, tastes cinnamon toothpaste and hears Suga’s answering sweet whine and thinks, _"Oh."_

 

Right now, Oikawa can’t fully wrap his mind around everything, can only feel overwhelming bursts of happiness and satisfaction, can only focus on Suga, here, in his arms, everything else, the fact that they’re both still drenched, that Iwaizumi and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are going to walk in at any moment, that he’s going to have to pay for the five pear tarts he gave away for free, melting away with the rain as it pitter patters against the windows and covers the town, smearing everything into messy, beautiful watercolors.

 

Everything else will be for later, when Oikawa is lying on his bed at home with a new contact in his phone and smiling stupidly up at his ceiling and the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered over it, when he’s alone and can finally freak out over the fact that he’s finally dating Sugawara Koushi, knocking over a pile of schoolbooks in the process of jumping around his room, when Suga calls him later that night before they both go to sleep, the two of them talking in hushed tones until Suga drifts off with the line still connected, Oikawa not hanging up either and falling asleep a little while later.

 

Later will be for waiting for his friends to walk into the bakery and notice Suga holding Oikawa’s hand, will be for Hanamaki’s mouth dropping open and Matsukawa’s eyebrows rising almost above his hairline, for Iwaizumi’s knowing roll of his eyes followed quickly by a fleeting but pleased smile, for Suga to smile in a way that isn’t as sweet as the ones he had given Oikawa earlier, more saccharine and edged with danger, when he says, "Maybe we should bet on Iwaizumi and Sawamura next.", for Iwaizumi nearly dropping the tray of sweet potato apple pies he’s holding and Hanamaki’s cat-like grin when he steps forward with his pinky raised, for Oikawa to watch in disbelief as Iwaizumi’s face turns as red as the anko paste.

 

Later will be for going out on dates and hand-holding and more kissing, for Suga teasing Oikawa about _"Your hair is like starlight."_ , for meeting siblings and stargazing and spending countless hours wrapped up in each other.

 

But for right now, as the town wakes up around them and the rain continues to fall and the summer sun casts everything in bright, bright light, Oikawa is content to stay right here and kiss the sweetness from Suga’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is for day 1 of oisuga week: bakery au and it turned out to be way longer than i intended (as all of my writing usually does), but i hope my research on Japanese desserts is accurate (●´▽｀●)_旦”☆”旦_(○´ー｀○)
> 
> (and yes, the inspiration for the town in the fic is from Kimi no Na wa)
> 
> my blog: [here](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


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